One More Hawke: Redux
by Musicalrain
Summary: A re-write of my discontinued story One More Hawke. Olisa, Marianna, Roderick, and Carver were bound together by familial loyalty and blood. Each will shape the future - whether it'd be in sacrifice or triumph. A novelization of DAII with four Hawke siblings instead of three. AU. OCs. Multiple pairings. Rated T for now. Warnings for violence & same-sex relationships. Now with beta.
1. Chapter 1: Olisa

_Author's __Note: __This __is __a __completely __revamped __edition __of __my __discontinued __fic, __One __More __Hawke. __With __help __of __my __awesome __beta, __Apollo __Wings, __you __should __notice __a __dramatic __increase __in __the __quality __of __writing __and __several __changes __from __OMH. __I __will __try __my __best __to __keep __the __plot __and __major __events __from __the __original __story __intact __in __this __version, __but __this __won't __be __exactly __the __same. __Specifically, __you'll __notice __right __away __that __the __character __Lizbeth __is __now __male __and __named __Roderick. __All __the __romances __from __the __first __fic __will __still __be __present __in __this __one, __so __they'll __be: __Roderick/Nathaniel __(m/m), __Olisa/Cullen __(f/m), __Marianna/Seamus/Fenris __(f/m), __Isabela/Merrill __(f/f), __and __Zevran/Orana __(f/m). __Lots __of __romances. __This __is __totally __a __chick __fic. __:3 __Also, __I __should __note __that __you __needn't __have __read __One __More __Hawke __to __understand __this __story. __Anywho, __let's __get __on __to __the __new __first __chapter! __:)_

…...

**Olisa**

Olisa is bringing up the rear, urging her family to move along with shouts and pleas – the darkspawn are advancing, and it's her duty as eldest to see to it that they're safe. Her leathers feel damp against her skin, chafing around the shoulders and her midsection as if too small there, when she knows it's just sweat and poor linens beneath that have hiked up beneath or bunched, and she is unable to adjust them in their flight. Why didn't Roderick take Mother and flee long ago? Why did he wait until they returned from the massacre at Ostagar, with the darkspawn at their heels? He had no assurances of their survival from that fateful, rain streaked battle! She, Marianna, and Carver were in no state to be much help at all regardless, wounded and tired as they were. The two warriors out of the triplets especially – Anna and Carver were on the front lines out of the men from the Lothering militia. The militia was decimated; they were lucky to be alive, let alone as lightly wounded as they were. Still, they were hindered by their as of yet, untreated wounds. The warriors had sought out their older sister amongst the line of archers when they saw the King fall. There was no hope. Desertion was the only option they had to save themselves. It was dishonorable, but they didn't want to sacrifice themselves needlessly – Ostagar had fallen, and Lothering would be next to be in the throes of destruction from those cursed beasts. Their prediction, unfortunately true by the time of their arrival.

Olisa takes a quick glance back at the ever approaching darkspwan. She so wishes Roderick had just taken Mother and her mabari, Dagger, and fled. At least they would be safe, but now they're all doomed.

She sees Mother's steps falter, she wasn't made for running this long, and Carver steadies her by her elbow. Olisa signals to her mage-born brother, who in turn doesn't hesitate to let loose a wall of flame against the advancing darkspawn. Olisa's arrows sing and pierce the beasts' eyes with a _squelch _as the fetid stench of their burning flesh penetrates the air. With the darkspawn down, she turns towards her siblings. They're only safe momentarily, but they need the brief respite. Marianna is panting with her hands on her knees under the weight of her huge double-bearded axe, and that concerns Olisa. Marianna is the fastest runner of the lot of them with the greatest stamina to boot, if she's struggling already then that doesn't bode well. Carver's talking to Mother in quiet tones, for once, his blue eyes filled with worry even if he's trying to hide it well. Roderick is leaning on his enchanted pole-axe, adorned with a mean looking hammer opposite the blade. All the while he's holding a vial of lyrium in hand as he's trying to determine if he needs it or not. He had already used a fair bit of mana as they rushed to escape the overrun village proper while they left their farmhold.

"Take it Roddy," Olisa advises as she wipes the sweat from her brow and she pushes her bangs aside. It seems like she's done nothing but sweat and run with the occasional pull of her bowstring back to stop their pursuers. "We're not out of the woods yet."

He nods, the short, brown tail of his hair bobbing with the movement as he pops the cork with his teeth and downs the contents in one go. His eyes, as blue as the lyrium he drank, glimmer as his mana is restored in a rush. Olisa pats him on the shoulder of his padded leather vest before turning to the rest of her family, "Everyone alright?"

Nods go around as Roderick mumbles from Olisa's side, "We need a plan. We can't just wonder aimlessly."

"We could go to Krikwall," Mother offers as she leaves her youngest by mere minute's side, and walks tiredly towards the rest of her children. "We have family there – an estate!"

"There are Templars there, Mother," Marianna scowls as she straightens her chestplate. "Roderick's a mage, lest you forget, and Father always said that city was crawling with those lyrium-addled brutes."

"What choice do we have?" Carver huffs at his eldest triplet, wiping a rivulet of sweat off his furrowed brow. "There's darkspawn everywhere! We don't have a chance if we stay!"

Olisa examines her taller albeit younger mage brother. He could pass for a swordsman. Thank the Maker he's never been foolish enough to try and wear robes. "Roderick's a warrior," she looks at everyone pointedly. "He wields a blade, not magic, got it?"

Roderick nods and smirks, the edges of his mouth crinkling briefly, "What magic?"

Olisa allows herself to smile briefly too. "We should go, before more darkspawn try to eat us." She nods her head forward. "We can catch a ship in Gwaren. A shaky plan's better than no plan after all, and a roof over our heads is better than a lean in some Maker-forsaken alley."

They head up the hill before them, Carver aiding the siblings' mother, and Olisa's mabari warhound taking point. There's a rustling in the shrubbery ahead, and all six stop as grunts and the _clang _of metal on metal reaches their ears. Olisa edges into the shadows along the treeline, and spies a warrior with flaming red hair and another with raven locks battling a group of darkspawn. She quickly pads back to her family, and urges Dagger to protect Leandra as the siblings go forward to aid the outnumbered unknown warriors after she quickly makes the gesture for only those fighting to follow her. Olisa stands atop the hill in the long shadow of an oak tree as her three younger siblings remove their blades and rush towards the tainted beasts. Roderick may not have been at Ostagar as the others, but he's quickly learned how to best the darkspawn. He's remembered not to use his magic either, as she watches him use his pole-axe blade to fell a 'spawn, where he would normally use a flame. Olisa pulls the string back taut on her longbow, the wire digging into the leather pads of her gloves, and releases her red-fletched arrow on an exhale into the neck of the darkspawn swinging a bastardsword at her only sister. Marianna finishes the 'spawn attacking her with a downward gutting of the beast, at the same time Olisa lets loose another painted arrow into the poorly armored shoulder of a darkspawn slashing at the ginger warrior. Carver finishes the last 'spawn with a pommel hit of his broadsword to the face, and a quick and efficient decapitation to the stunned enemy.

Olisa takes a skeptical look at the ginger-haired warrior. She's a woman in heavy plate emblazoned with a regal lion – possibly a shield maiden, or at least one of the royal guard by way of the lion. Another deserter, quitter of the field. It seems deserters find each other without rhyme, reason nor much hope. She watches as the woman helps the other stranger to stand, and Olisa momentarily freezes as she notices the Sword of Mercy gracing his chestplate – a Templar. Her deep brown eyes flick over to Roderick. The normally sweet and happy young man's face is pulled into a harsh frown, his utter disbelief at their situation marring it. His knuckles are white around the lyrium-weaved grip of his pole-axe, and Marianna takes a step protectively in front of him with her impressive dual-bladed axe still drawn. Thankfully, Roderick's magic wasn't revealed in this battle.

Olisa looks to Carver, "See that Mother's safe." The warrior scowls at the offhand order, but hurries after his mother nonetheless. If she knows her warrior brother half as well as she did, she'd still know he'd think the order given to him on purpose rather than Roddy or Anna. Olisa looks to the strangers again, and moves closer to Anna and Roddy as she does so. "Are you friend or foe, strangers?"

"Friend," the Templar gasps, clutching his left side as blood covers his thick leather gauntlet, dripping over his fingers slowly – so not fatal if they're out of the darkspawn taken lands soon enough. "Thank the Maker for your timely arrival."

"I am Aveline Vallen," the woman introduces herself, "And this is my husband, Ser Wesley." Olisa raises a brow at the couple. She didn't know Templars married, nor that anyone would care to marry a Templar either. She was sure they had to remain chaste after all – married to the Maker. They were responsible for Father's death, as well, and couldn't be trusted around even mage-blooded people such as herself, Marianna or Carver with their bigoted views on magical inheritance. They'd more than likely be culled than allowed the possibility to have children of their own in case of passing down the gift of magic.

"We're the Hawkes," she turns to acknowledge Carver, Dagger, and her mother briefly, "We're seeking ship in Gwaren. You can join us if you want. Safety in numbers, and all that." _The __enemy __of __my __enemy __is __my __friend_, Olisa almost smiles at remembering the proverb. You had to keep friends close but enemies closer in times of desperation lest you receive a dagger to the kidneys. If the Templar doesn't get wind of Roderick's abilities while traveling together, then it's possible that he'd be safe in the City of Chains too. A test, but needed to make sure her family stays safe.

"Are you sure that's wise, sister?" She can feel Carver's scowl on the back of her head. "We don't know them."

"But they have blades," she turns to the young warrior. "More darkspawn dead, the better I say."

"This is pointless," Aveline sighs. "The way north is overrun. We had to turn back."

"Blast. That just leaves us with the Wilds," Marianna shakes her head as she places her axe onto her back. "We can try to avoid the horde, but..." she shrugs.

"We have to try something," Mother visibly shakes in fear. "If we can just get around the darkspawn-"

"I say we try," Aveline interrupts. "The lady's right, we haven't much choice."

"We still have east toward Gwaren you know." Olisa puts it dryly – as if only two directions remained for travel. That or west which would take them away from the south-eastern Teyrnir.

Minds made up, the group alters their path. They can only hope that they find safety.

Unfortunately they head right towards more darkspawn, one of which is an ogre. The beast is huge with a frame completely comprised of grotesque corded muscles of grey flesh. The creature is bigger than any such darkspawn the archer had ever seen before. Marianna and Carver had said that the King was killed by an ogre, but she hadn't really thought on what that meant – she was too focused on fleeing the horde. And now she's too focused on the menacing horns and rancid spittle seeming to coat the creature, as it streams thick from its mouth to create slick muscles no boot could find proper purchase on. She freezes, as impossible as that seems to the archer, she can't seem to force her muscles to cooperate with her mind. Her thoughts are screaming for her to move, but she can't. The ogre roars, and seems intent on her over all others but still she feels crippled with fear, the sweat that sticks over her body clammy and cold, the pinch of leather and bunched under-linens like heavy iron stocks and chains.

"Sister!" She hears someone shout through the white-noise drowning her ears, "_Sister! _You have to run!"

Her feet won't move. She doesn't know what's wrong. The ogre's charging, and she's hyperventilating, having a panic attack, and she just can't _move_. She's unable to save herself – the horned darkspawn is sweeping one meaty arm her way... and then something hits her. She's flung along the packed earth on her sweat-damp leathers with enough force to land her several feet away. Something hit her _hard_, but she's not dead. Far from it as she gasps and shatters the rhetorical irons around her body, only to peer up at her savior in time to see them scooped up by that meaty hand that was so intent on her. Her savior, her brother, Carver. He's yelling, cursing at the darkspawn in a feeble attempt to have its hold around his body loosen. His greatsword was dropped, and it seems his armor isn't able to protect him from that darkspawn's unholy strength. The ogre squeezes and Caver screams terribly in pain – pain that Olisa was so sure she was going to feel, and not her dear youngest brother. Someone who she loves so much. Someone who she's sworn to protect, and yet he's hurting because _he_ protected _her_. The weight of that hangs heavy in her heart as she forces every coherent muscle and fiber of her being to act according to her will.

Roderick seems to have forgone any desire to hide his magical talent in front of a Templar, and lets loose fireball after fireball at the ogres legs. The ogre merely stomps until the packed earth shakes and the mage falls back, struggling with his concentration of spells to have righted himself with the shaking, and it squeezes Carver harder, causing him to choke and cry out in worse pain. When Olisa finally regains her control of her traitorously uncooperative body, she's completely horrified and focused on stopping that Blighted ogre, she notches two arrows into her bow and pierces the neck of the Maker-forsaken beast. It's only an irritation to the ogre, but it does get it to release her brother – Carver is thrown, and does not move from the boulder he was unceremoniously dumped at. The pain that stabs Olisa in the gut as she looks to her gore-covered warrior brother and sees him unmoving, is the same kind of pain she felt when she had held her father's corpse years ago. Fury blinds her vision – she _needs_ to kill that ogre. The only impulse she has is to have that ogre as still as he is, as if by doing that Carver will move again. As if the end of a fight would mean all wounds disappear and everything's alright in the world once more.

She yells to Roderick to fall back to her position, no need for him to get scooped up too – his magic has been exposed, and he can very well use it from a distance. Marianna though, she has to get in close to the ogre, but at least she has the shield maiden there to help her. _And where is that Blasted Templar? Shouldn't he be trying to stop this thing too?_

Her train of thought stops as the ogre pounds a mighty fist into the earth just a couple feet from Marianna, and the hit was so close that the warrior falters, the earth beneath her feet slanting dangerously. Olisa, not daring to lose another sibling, coats one of her arrowtips in the poison extracted from a Wilds'-toad, by cracking the thin poison-filled vial from her leg-pouch over the tip. The poison is strong enough to knock three full-grown men down, and she hopes it will at least weaken the ogre enough that they have a chance. It's only mortal and experience told her that if you can cripple something it can be killed – this wouldn't be in vain! She takes her time and a steadying breath before she carefully aims her shot at the ogre's vulnerable eye. It lands true, and the ogre roars in pain at the bolt rupturing the soft tissue of its eye. Olisa counts to five and the ogre sways, taking knee – the poison works. She doesn't waste time, and instead focuses her shots to the darkspawn stragglers approaching and intent on protecting the ogre. The other three able-bodied persons, warrior and mage, focus their combined strengths on the weakened ogre. By the time Olisa readies her fourth-to-last arrow, she sees the black ichor of the ogre's blood leaking from several gashes on its arms and legs. Burn-marks adorn its face and chest – the skin completely charred along its stomach, and Olisa eagerly targets her arrow to the already ruptured and blackened eye she had shot before. She pulls back on her bowstring with all her strength, near ripping the leather of her glove in her fervency, and the arrow flies with enough speed and power to pin a man to a tree, she feels. The beast bellows and falls to both knees, and from beside Olisa, Roderick focuses his power to manifest a stone fist hard enough to crush the ogre's windpipe – killing the weakened creature with his magic.

There are no cheers of victory however, as the remaining Hawke siblings all look to the crumpled body of their fallen sibling. Mother is weeping over his unmoving body with Dagger ever-vigilant at her side. The siblings all move slowly towards her, the shield-maiden seeking out her husband, and grieve silently at their loss. Carver might have been the youngest of them, but he was well known to be the bravest. And he sacrificed himself for his sister's sake. The most noble of them by far for that gesture.

"Mother," Olisa whispers in a watery voice – knowing she's not able to comfort her mother, and dreading what she must say. "Carver's with Father now, Mother... We... we have to go, before the darkspawn-"

"He's your brother!" Mother says angrily at her eldest. "We can't just leave him!"

"We can't stay and let the darkspawn take us either," Marianna tries to reason in a voice laden with anguish. She too – knows that carrying a corpse will hinder their own efforts to live. It's a bitter pill to swallow.

"We can make a ceremonial pyre for him in Kirkwall," Roderick offers softly, "There's nothing we can do for him now."

They hear an in-human shriek, and all turn to see more than a dozen darkspawn quickly advancing. Olisa touches her remaining arrows in her quiver – she only has three feathered shafts left that she can feel. Maker's breath, they're not going to make it to build that pyre. This slice of tainted mud might be their communal graves… it likely would be actually. Maker preserve her if the hatred of herself for letting Carver sacrifice himself for her, but she might welcome it if only to say thanks to him on the other side of the Veil.

…...

_Author's Note: Another thanks to Apollo Wings, for all the beta-ing put into this chapter and bumping the quality up a few notches!_


	2. Chapter 2: Roderick

**Roderick**

Maker's mercy, but Roderick can scarcely believe that they made it to Gwaren – with the help of a crazy old witch, no less. Well maybe she's more of a dragon than the woman she had introduced herself to be? The Witch of the Wilds had spent most of the time escorting the desperate group in dragon form – scorching any darkspawn fool enough to attack them into piles little more than ash. Roderick had an uneasy feeling about her the entire time in her company. She wasn't a normal mage, if the dragon-form was anything to go by. She did manage to keep her promise though, as surprising as that was. Roderick had to sell his boot knife once in Gwaren to buy them passage to Kirkwall. It was a nifty blade enchanted with a flame rune by a Chasind shaman Father had occasionally traded with. Came in handy when he had to be cautious of his magic use, and yet needed to light a fire or warm his hands. He wouldn't complain about the loss of the blade though, Andraste's buttcheeks, but his oldest sister was near hysterical when she had learned of the cost to get them out of these Blighted lands, and realized that they didn't have the coin for them all. That Aveline woman had some coin on her, thank goodness, or he'd hate to think what else they'd have had to sell.

Dagger whines by his feet, and he pats his head. No, they'd never sell the mabari. Not even for this. They'd already lost to desperation, and they wouldn't loose again. Carver and Dagger weren't comparable, he knew, but the loss of the hound would still hurt. Carver though, his death, still fresh in all their minds, burns terribly in his heart. His gaze flicks over to Olisa, sitting with her back to a crate in the belly of the ship and holding her bow as if the carved wood was some precious artifact. Before the witch had saved them all from joining Carver at the Maker's side, Roderick could have sworn Olisa had a crazed, fatalistic look about her. And even still, he worries about her. She's taking Carver's death particularly hard, though silent in her grief, unlike Mother. Not to say he or Marianna don't feel something about it, but their sorrow is different. Carver gave his life for Olisa – it has to be affecting her in a worse way.

Marianna, bless her heart, is trying to console Mother as she seemingly weeps endlessly. Roderick didn't think he had the best disposition to comfort her himself – when Mother was upset, she was blind to the world. He looks to Olisa again. He also doesn't know what to do for his oldest sister. Carver had been the one to speak with her after Father's death, Marianna had taken care of Mother then too, and Roderick had dealt with it on his own. Being the only other mage in the family, he knew the realities of death-by-Templar better than the others. On some level he even expected it for himself or Father. Death or capture, at any time, was a stark possibility for an apostate after all.

And then there was the Templar's wife. His observant eyes pick out the red hair of Aveline near the corner the Hawke family had claimed for themselves in the ship's depths. She seems upset, he thinks. And she has no one to lean on. No one left in all of Thedas, apparently. She had said both her parents were long dead, when they had asked if she had any other family to aid her. Should he speak to her? She is... was a Templar's wife, after all. And she knows he's a mage. Roderick frowns, but, if nothing else, he should speak with her to try and gauge if she'll turn him in to the Templars as soon as they set foot on land. He's not sure where her loyalties lie, and that's a dangerous thing for him.

He pads over to the warrior woman, confident in his plan to offer his sympathies and see if he can determine her opinion of him – of his magical talents.

He clears his throat when he's next to her and she looks up, sorrow lining her eyes and her mouth down turned, "Uh..." Was she a 'ser' or a 'madam'? "Messere Aveline," he decides, "I was wondering if you'd... like someone to talk to?" He flashes her a charming and sweet smile – one that got him in trouble more often than not.

She raises one brow, "Roddy, was it?"

"Roderick actually," he smiles a little softer. "My sisters like to call me Roddy."

"Roderick," she repeats and nods to herself. "If you wish to talk, feel free."

"Alright..." he hesitates a bit, before carefully sitting near her, but not too near. "I don't know if I've said this before, but I'm really quite sorry about your Tem- husband."

"Wesley was a good man," she smiles sadly for a brief moment and then blinks in consideration of Roderick, "I am... sorry about your brother too."

Roderick's smile falters, and he looks to his lap while he plucks at a loose thread on the edge of his untucked tunic. "We were triplets – Marianna, Carver, and I. Carver wasn't afraid of anything. He'd always wanted to join the army. He even dragged our sisters with him."

"And you didn't join with them?" She asks, and he's not sure if she's genuinely interested in the answer, or not.

"Someone had to look out for Mother, and besides... it was too much of a risk for me."

Her lips pull in a thin line, "Right. I understand." Aveline sighs and shifts her weight, "Look – I know... about your talents, but you should know that I am not my husband. Wesley took pride in his work, but his work is not mine. Your family has done much for me, and I would not turn traitor to such... friendship."

If only he could really believe that. She was a deserter, like his sisters, and loyalty was a finicky thing with them. Perhaps she wouldn't betray him to the Templars now, but who knows how she'd feel about him in a month or two? He'd have to keep an eye on her, and make sure his sisters did too for his sake. Not that he'd think they wouldn't look out for him in the first place – they'd always had his best interests in heart. They'd always done so much because of his magic.

"I'm... relieved to hear that," even if that was only partially true. He decides to try and change the topic, if only a little, "Wesley wasn't of the Lothering Chantry, was he? I didn't recognize him."

"You knew many Templars?"

Roderick shrugs, "I had to know who to hide from."

"Ah," she looks away from the young mage. "No, Wesley was stationed elsewhere. He came south to offer aid and escort a group of non-magical healers. Sisters and Brothers, mostly."

"Oh. Well that sounds helpful." Roderick answers honestly with a considering look on his face. "I wish I knew healing, but the Maker granted me gifts elsewhere."

"You really believe that?" The soldier asks without preamble.

"The Maker granted me life – made me who I am." Roderick shakes his head, "I'd like to be normal, but we're hardly ever what we wish we were."

"That's very wise, for someone so young." Aveline extends a hand to Roderick, "Thank you, for speaking with me."

Roderick takes her hand and leaves moments later. With nothing to do, and worry lining his face, Roderick sits near Olisa and stares aimlessly in thought. He's an apostate in a ship, the Willowy Maiden, filled to the brim with refugees stinking of stale sweat, ale, blood, and vomit, on his way to a city filled to the brim with Templars. A Templar's widow of questionable loyalty knows he's a mage, and after speaking with her, his fears aren't exactly quelled. He's well aware he shouldn't use his magic for fear of discovery, even if he never taps into his mana again. But knowing all this, doesn't exactly give him peace. He'd _like _to believe Aveline an honest person, he'd _like _to be assured that he can conceal his magic well enough, he'd _like _to believe he'd be safe in Kirkwall – but he has his doubts, as understandable as they are. Maker, he pinches the bridge of his nose, he shouldn't worry so. They made it out from the Blight, which was near-on impossible, so it's quite possible he can live in Kirkwall with the remainder of his family, and his mother's family's wealth and power, as an apostate. As a noble! Oh, he'd like to have trousers made of silk, ruffled sleeves on his tunics, and all the biscuits and cakes he can eat! To be able to go to noble parties with dancing, velvet suits, and fine wines, that'd be a dream come true. Roderick smiles to himself and leans back. He can only hope that things will turn out better.

…...

_Author's note: A short bonus chapter for everyone who followed and put this story on their favorite's list within mere hours after the story's posting!_


	3. Chapter 3: Marianna

**Marianna**

The packed earth beneath Marianna is unyielding, and digging into the bleeding, swelling gash on her cheek. She can feel the stray bits of gravel sticking into her wound enough for a hiss of pain to escape her lips involuntarily. This was supposed to be a quiet job, but no, the damned Coterie had to make for the same loot as Athenril's crew, and now they're neck deep in back-stabbing bitches with knife fetishes. They need to get those damned crates of lyrium and _go_, before the City Guard decides it's worth the risks to check out the ruckus at the Docks. Marianna curses violently at the corruption that's evident even in that stray thought. Worth the risks. As if defending the peace and upholding laws had to be worth the risks. There shouldn't even be people and gangs like the ones they're having to work for able to do this. But the City Guard seems to be of the opinion almost that without crime they'd be out of a job. They only pick the battles that they win from all evidence and it sickens her. You don't pick and choose what life throws at you.

A tendril of fear strikes her when she hears a pained gasp from her brother fighting somewhere off behind her prone form, and it's enough for her anger to rock her very being. Maker damn it does she hate Kirkwall. "Flaming Blight," she grumbles to herself while she shakes the pain and weariness from her mind, and makes for her fallen weapon. That bastard with the mallet walloped her good after the girl with the shiv tried to carve her face up real nice. "Now we have to deal with this horse shit." The spittle collects in the edge of her mouth from the rant. Marianna brings up her double-bearded axe, her pride and joy, and cuts through the leather-bound shin of the closest Coterie girl as if it were no more than butter. She silences the masked girl's screams with a downward blow cutting completely through her sternum, and splattering her own cheap steel armor with the girl's warm, thick life-blood. Marianna pulls out her menacing weapon amidst a crack of bone, and a grunt for her efforts, before she seeks out her mage-born brother.

Roderick seems to have taken care of the shiv-girl, but the mallet-prick is giving the mage a tough time. She doesn't even see Olisa, damned sneaky archer and her shadows, but Aveline seems to be doing a good job of leading the idiots away from the loot, drawing attention toward the threat she poses rather than the ultimate goal of lyrium and out of here with their lives. A few of Athenril's archers are atop the roofs, doing what they can to help out Aveline and protect the loot too – largely leaving her and Roderick with the ones less interested in loot, and more interested in bleeding them. Some sadomasochistic bastards just don't give a flying fuck for their lives. "Sodding great," she mutters to herself again, and decides to just charge the blasted mallet-prick.

Marianna holds the flat of her axe to her shoulder, and rams her entire body into the man's side. He was too preoccupied with Roderick and his pole-axe to notice the gore-covered warrior and her charge, or if he did, he didn't think she could topple him. Pride is a fucking sweet downfall to her advantage. She's heavier than she looks all muscle and plate, leaner than a Denerim butcher's dog and sodding proud of that. Not so much to have it be her own downfall though. They sprawl to the ground, and Marianna wrestles one gauntlet-clad hand to punch the masked bastard in his nose. He cries out, and Marianna bares her teeth in surging anger as she punches him again. She sits up on his chest, and tries to bring her massive axe around, but Roderick is quicker than she in delivering the final blow to the wretched sod – his pole-axe's hammer makes a right mess of the cloth-covered man's face.

The siblings look up at each other once the man's body goes lax, and share in a mutual nod of appreciation for having each other's backs. Marianna scrambles off of the dead man's body, and both look towards Aveline and the pin-cushioned men still trying to best her – four of Athenril's archers, _and _their sister means these men have little chance of besting the seasoned soldier; a deserter just like them trained in the Ferelden army seems to be much more skilled than these louts. The Coterie seems to have underestimated Athenril's new muscle. They all know they won't next time their smuggling rings cross. They'll just have to keep making a dent in the Coterie's men if they want to live through their year of servitude. Piece of piss.

"Fucking Gamlen," Marianna grunts as they finish off the profusely bleeding bastards quickly with the dwindling vestiges of their stamina. Marianna would love it if she could drag her arse-face of an uncle on their next job just to see him shit his trousers – the bastard deserves it after somehow pissing away hundreds, if not thousands, of gold coins. _How __in __the __Maker's __name does __someone __even __do __that_, she thinks as she wipes the blood and bone fragments from her weapon on the padded tunic of the closest Coterie man. They were supposed to be nobles – how were they going to protect Roddy from the blasted Templars in a shack? And their mother, she didn't deserve to live in refuse-filled streets and a leaky house after all her loss. Mother wasn't made for a hard life. Necessity drove them here, but it'd drive them to something better and it burns in the second eldest alive Hawke sibling to push for that vague concept of better.

"Andraste's flaming cunt," she hears Roderick swear in her direction. The curse is crude enough for the mild-tempered man that it surprises her, and she swivels on her clunky booted feet in his direction despite her weariness. When she faces him, she sees his brows pulled harshly over his lyrium-blue eyes. She thinks she's never heard her brother even utter the word 'cunt' before – that's something more along the lines of what she'd say. Filthy mouth, their mother always would complain. Not that what hoity-toity nobles she had heard talking had less sewage filled mouths, they just had the ridiculous accents to make it sound sodding classy. All 'pass the fecking grouse' and 'get me my fecking pipe' all day long without the dirty looks of people thinking that swearing meant a limited vocabulary. She shakes herself of her wayward thoughts, and focuses back on the concerned look of her remaining triplet. That mallet-prick must've really knocked her head a good one.

"Yeah, Roddy?" She asks as she leans on her axe for added support, smirking at his colorful language that she knew if mother heard she'd get a verbal lashing over because it would be _assumed_ she taught him.

"You're bleeding pretty badly there," Roderick points at his own cheek. "Are you cut all the way through? It looks nasty, Anna."

She runs her tongue on the inside of her cheek and winces as it makes contact with the swollen tissue. "Not quite all the way."

He frowns further, "Want me to try healing it some?"

"Your creation spells are horrid," she huffs after making sure Athenril's men are out of ear-shot. They don't know Roderick's a mage. They passed him off as a swordsman just fine to the elf and Marianna knows just how much trust you can place in someone once you were out of their good books. "Just let it be for now. You can stitch it up when we get back."

He frowns even deeper, and she thinks he'll get wrinkles if he keeps that up. "It'll scar."

She waves her hand about for emphasis as she replies, "Like that matters. Got plenty of them in the sodding militia."

Olisa comes up to them with Athenril's archers – must mean Olisa was hiding in the recesses of the buildings and roofs with the others during the battle then. She's just a tad bit better at disappearing than the others, so Marianna couldn't even spy her during the fight. One of Athenril's higher ups, an elven man with salt-and-pepper hair loose about his face and steely eyes, steps forward to address them all. They all know Sloane's the one in charge of this job, and that he'll report to Athenril with the opinion if her investment was well placed. They already proved themselves once, but they've yet to impress Athenril's second. He holds the refugees' fates in his sly, calloused hands – they could be dumped to defend for themselves if he reports poorly in their favor.

"That was more... messy than it should have been," he sneers at a quickly cooling, disemboweled corpse near their feet. "Get the loot you lot, and let's get out of here," he points to the humans in his vicinity. Marianna's pretty sure the elf gets a kick out of ordering a bunch of humans around – at least he's less of an arse to them than most humans are to their elven employees. She reckons she'd get a kick outta it too in his situation. Regardless, they'll just have to wait 'til tomorrow then, to find out if he thinks their skills compliment his team well enough to satisfy his boss.

She still feels the sting of exhaustion through her spine and limbs as she carries one of the splintering crates of lyrium with the others. Her head is definitely throbbing – sodding Void, but she hopes that bastard didn't damage anything that a few hours of sleep can't fix. She really doesn't want to have Roddy practice his creation magic on her – last time she had sprained her wrist, and ended up with the wrist dubiously fixed, but then had a migraine that kept her in bed for the rest of the day. Her brother is _not_a Blighted healer. It might have been likely he was sorted at birth never to touch a healing spell in his entire life. Damn that Maker, the most useful and hide-able magic and Roddy couldn't have it.

The rest of the way through, and out of, the Docks is quiet – a few petty thieves here and there, but one look at their weaponry, and the pick-pockets decide it's not worth the risk. Five archers and three 'swordsmen' would put anyone with their wits about them off. They take a well-hidden passage down a weathered, filthy alleyway to an 'abandoned' shack that serves as a front for one of the entrances to the series of smuggler tunnels Athenril commandeered for her crew and goods.

"Maker Anna," Olisa breathes at her as they stack their crates in a damp, dusty side-tunnel full of similar boxes. The weight of the crate no longer in her arms is a relief to Marianna's strained muscles. She opens and closes her stiff fingers as her sister steps closer to her. "Mother's going to fret when she sees you." Olisa brushes her worn-leather gloves along the open face of Marianna's helm where her gash is slowly coagulating. Even the slight pressure is enough to remind the warrior of the facial the shiv-girl gave her earlier. She _almost _forgot about it. Fucking stings like a bitch now.

A barely concealed sharp intake of breath escapes her, before she takes a small half-step back from Olisa. "It's nothing – Roddy will fix it up when we get to Gamlen's." The word 'home' almost escaped her lips, but that pathetic shack is not home. It's nothing compared to the well-tended and fruitful farm they had back in Lothering. "Besides, won't Mother be sleeping? It's the dead of the blasted night."

Her sister purses her lips, "Mother will be up with worry, and you know that." The archer shifts her weight, and tugs on the strap of her quiver as she continues, "She hates what Gamlen did to us."

"We had no damned choice."

She watches as Olisa's face pinches beneath her heavy bangs at her statement, "You know I know that, but that's not how she sees it."

"Sisters," they both look towards Roderick. The mage is rocking on his heels in blatant unease while tugging on the hem of his loose tunic. "Let's get home, hmm? I don't know about you, but I could use some shut-eye."

They both begrudgingly agree, and allow their brother to diffuse any argument that may have started between the sisters over their unjust situation. Marianna does not have high hopes for Kirkwall anymore – she thinks they'll be lucky to make it out with all their digits and teeth intact. If they even have anything to return to in Ferelden once the Blight has scoured the lands. Don't those things take decades to settle? Sod it all, but she hopes they don't have to re-locate again. Who would they lose if they were on the run from the 'spawn a second time? She hopes she doesn't find out.

The siblings meet Aveline just outside the tunnel, and they all decide it'd be best to take the alleyways back to Gamlen's. They're exhausted and in no shape to take on any of the city's many thugs they've spied during their job, and they know their way from Athenril as best they can. Marianna spares a glance at the shield and sword wielder in their midst, as they leave the navigation to Olisa and her affinity for always knowing the best paths to travel. Aveline's been quiet, or more so than sodding usual, she thinks. She was a woman dedicated to King and country before, perhaps being downgraded to smuggler and common criminal troubles Aveline more than the younger warrior can hope to understand. The woman seems to be sporting a perpetual frown ever since she met their slimy uncle in the Gallows. Marianna reasons that she doesn't have to be so disappointed – it could be way flaming worse after all. They could be stranded outside the Maker forsaken city's gates with no hope of food, water, or shelter – wasting away in suffering more prolonged than being at the wretched darkspawn's mercy would've granted them.

Marianna, feeling more scatter-brained than is typical, shakes her head to clear it of any concerns for Aveline. She resolves that she doesn't know the woman well enough to give a sideways fuck over her frowny-face. If Aveline doesn't like bunking with her family and working off a debt to a criminal smuggling master, then she can very well sit her arse in the Gallows with the rest of the misbegotten citizens.

Starting to feel a more pronounced throbbing in her head, Marianna lifts her helm off of her sweaty, unkempt hair to probe at the knot on the side caused by that mallet-prick. Damn, but Roddy might just have to heal her. She doesn't look forward to the side-effects of her brother's poor attempts at creation magic. She'll be woozy and have a headache for days.

So preoccupied with her self-examination, Marianna doesn't quite catch herself from knocking into the back of said magically-talented brother. Olisa's holding up the line with a raised hand in a bid for silence. Curious, Marianna attempts to creep forward with as much silence as any warrior is granted, and see what keeps her sister from continuing forward on their way home. Marianna thanks the Maker that she's able to keep her curses from spilling, when she sees a troupe of Templars walking down the well-lit street beyond their dank alleyway. Marianna is unable to keep in her snort at the sight of their shiny, pompous and impractical armor. The Templars fortunately don't hear her, but the glare Olisa sends her way almost makes her regret her lack of self-restraint in her exhausted, injured state. Almost. Maker damned them all, but has Marianna said she hates the City of Chains? Those blasted Templars are breaking down someone's door, but they have to move on. It's too risky for them to get involved. They certainly couldn't risk the Templar's wrath. She snorts again – maybe if luck ever finds its way to their family, they won't have to worry about such things. She highly doubts it though.

…...

_Author's __Note: __So, __if __you __haven't __noticed __it __yet, __this __story __will __be __switching __POVs __in __3rd __person __between __Olisa, __Roderick, __and __Marianna __fairly __evenly__ – __a __little __different __than __the __original __OMH! __Oh, __and __in __case __you __were __wondering, __the __cover __image's __drawings __shown __in __order __from __left __to __right __are__ – __Marianna, __Olisa, __Roderick, __and __Carver.__ Lots and lots of hugs to Apollo Wings for another awesome beta-ing job! :D P.S. The next chapter is in progress, and should be up either tomorrow or the next day._


	4. Chapter 4: Olisa

**Olisa**

Olisa looks into the bottom of her chipped clay tankard with a self-depreciating sigh. It's been a year since they've made and burned a ceremonial pyre for Carver just outside the walled city, Maker keep him. A year and four months working for Athenril. The archer would've worked for the smuggler for longer to bring extra bread to the table despite the end of her year of servitude, but they got wind of an once in a lifetime opportunity – a chance to get their hands on enough coin to set Mother up comfortably. They couldn't pass on that. It's been two months since they've struck a deal with Varric. Athenril wasn't happy about loosing the reason she's been able to keep the Coterie off her toes though, and that's why Olisa's sitting in the Hanged Man ignoring Varric and Anna's attempts at lightening her mood. Things with Athenril did not go over well. She was glad she wasn't alone to deal with that though. She looks around the table at her companions, still finding it novel that she has people outside her family she can rely on, and notices her brother isn't at her side. Where the Blight is Roddy? Making eyes at Anders, no doubt. She should be happy her brother's even found someone he feels free enough to make eyes at, as cautious as Roddy tends to be about his tastes, but for some reason that only makes her more unhappy. Not for selfish and petty reasons like jealousy or envy, but concern over protecting her baby brother. Anders is one of the most obvious apostates she's ever met – and Justice isn't exactly subtle either. She knows her brother is at greater risk for being exposed as an apostate in the former Grey Warden's company. Anders is proud of his magic, as is Roddy in his own way, but Roddy cannot wear his pride on his sleeve like Anders.

She takes another drink of the Hanged Man's piss-poor ale, and looks up at Fenris sitting across from her. The elf is as impassive as ever, and that brings her a modicum of comfort – she just needs someone to be predictable, is that too much to ask? Maker knows that Athenril's actions that day, and her own moods are anything but. Okay, Fenris isn't always _that_ predictable, but... She takes another drink. Merrill has just started babbling about fruit. She can't listen to that, not now. What she needs is companionable silence after that mess with her former employer, and not... fruit rambles.

"Where's Aveline?" She asks suddenly to no one in particular, still staring at the dregs of her ale with a frown threatening to blossom on her face. The guardswoman wasn't in her seat either.

"Playing chaperone with Roddy and Anders," Marianna smirks with her thumb pointed back towards the tavern's bar. Poor girl still has that angry, curved scar on her cheek from their first real job in Athenril's employ – a permanent reminder of their family's sacrifices for survival's sake, and Olisa's failures at protecting her siblings from harm – like she had sworn to herself to do after Father died.

Olisa spares a glance back towards the bar, and spies Roddy leaning in close to Anders and giggling like some young maiden. She feels a bit embarrassed for the poor lad. That's really quite out of character for him – he must be more besotted than she first thought. "I'm going to have to talk with him, aren't I?" Olisa starts to drum the fingers of her hand not preoccupied with holding her ale against the tabletop, as she considers what she could say to her brother.

"Ooh, _the talk_?" Marianna asks with a little too much malice in her smile. Olisa swings her gaze back 'round to her sister with a raised brow. Anna's been spending too much time around Isabela, Olisa thinks. Or maybe she has had too much drink for the hour.

"'The talk'? What in the Maker's name are you on about Anna?" Olisa scowls at her sister, and Marianna's smile widens.

"You know _the _talk," the warrior sits up straighter and mimics her sister's voice, "When two people like each other very much, they decide to strip naked and-"

"Anna! What is wrong with you? Stop that!" Olisa slaps her hand onto the grubby table with a _smack_ to stop her sister's mimicry. "That's not the talk I was talking about!" she huffs, ruffling the hair of her bangs with the exhale, "And I do not sound like that!"

Marianna simply laughs and minds her own drink, as Fenris' dark brows pull together in consideration. "What ever you do decide to speak with him about, you should warn him not to trust that _abomination_," Fenris sneers. _Ah that's right_. Olisa sometimes forgets that only her family, and Aveline, know Roderick's true abilities. She wouldn't put it past Varric or Isabela figuring it out either, sticking their noses in people's business as they tend to do, but otherwise the rest of their little haphazard group likely doesn't know her baby brother can set things on fire with merely his will. Funny that Fenris would show concern over Roderick now, or what Olisa assumes is Fenris showing concern, while not knowing of his magical talents – but if he were to out himself as a mage, she knows Fenris would quickly switch tunes.

Olisa almost looses a knowing laugh, but manages to reign it in and smother it into a smile, "No need to worry Fenris – Aveline seems to have it under control."

He 'hmph's with a roll of his eyes, and Olisa turns back to her sister that is, for some baffling reason, listening to Merrill's on-going fruit-babble. She nudges her between her plate-armor to get her attention, "Did you get outfitted today?"

"Yeah," Marianna instantly brightens, a playfulness still about her, "Only a shitty standard set though. Should be arriving by the end of the week." Olisa had secured a place in Kirkwall's City Guard for Anna. Aveline, now being Guard-Capitan, was persuaded despite her objections. Aveline, for some reason, did not want to take the warrior into her ranks. She had cited favoritism, Marianna's age, her experience, and even her criminal history all as reasons for not taking her in. She had said the warrior wasn't ready for a position in the Guard. Olisa pushed back – she had to merely remind the Capitan of all her family has done for her, and the circumstances of their first meeting to push her to accept her sister as a recruit. It was blackmail, yes, but she wouldn't have the former shield-maiden keep her sister from what she wanted. Even if Aveline may have been skewed and perhaps even well-intentioned to keep her from the Guard. Marianna wanted stability – she had confessed to Olisa that she didn't hold high the fool's hope they put into the expedition, and just wanted to find herself a place. A place like she had within the militia, when things made sense for the warrior. She wanted something tangible, something better, and not just faith. Kirkwall was a tough city, and there was a chance the expedition may not prove fruitful. Olisa pushed Aveline because she just wants her family happy. Maker knows she's not feeling pleased with their lot, with the things she's had to do and done even that very day, and there was no reason for them all to suffer.

"O-l-i-s-a." Olisa comes back to herself to see Marianna waving one heavily gloved hand in front of her face. "Daydreaming there sister? Thinking of joining the Guard yourself?" Marianna smirks teasingly, and Olisa scoffs.

"I'd be more likely to join the Templars." Both laugh at the absurdity of such a thing, and Olisa even swears Fenris cracks a smile, or smirk, or whatever that slight curve of his lip is.

Olisa watches as her sister takes another sip from her ale, a smirk still playing on her face and her brown eyes alight with a happiness that's been too rare in recent months, "You have to go to the blasted Gallows though – for that herbalist, right?" She barely waits for Olisa's nod before she continues, "Maybe you could talk to a recruiter there," she grins teasingly.

Olisa shakes her head and dismisses her sister's suggestion off-hand, "Gallows tomorrow. Ale today."

It took Olisa some time to get ready to go to the Gallows the next day. She was nursing a hangover and had to make sure she even had everything for Solivitus. For some Maker forsaken reason Marianna seemed more timely than she – the novice Guard being back from her morning training and drills by the time Olisa had gathered everything needed. Not wanting to take an apostate-in-hiding to a place full of people readily eager to lock him up for the rest of his life, Olisa helpfully suggested Roderick escort their mother to the markets in preparation for the evening meal. Leandra still held an animosity towards Olisa, a part of her still blaming her eldest for her youngest's death, and was more amendable to being in the company of her only remaining son.

She left the house with Dagger and a sweaty, tired Marianna who didn't object to getting away from Lowtown for a bit, even if it was on business at the Gallows. When Varric first suggested venturing to the Gallows to look at the markets there, the Hawkes were each apprehensive about it. Now though, having struck a deal with a herbalist who pays well, Olisa's just a tiny bit less apprehensive. The Gallows still reeks of despair and Templars. She doubts she'd ever feel comfortable traveling to the place. Coin or no.

The ferry that bustles them across from Docks-to-Gallows is packed with people sweltering in the afternoon heat, and the ferrymaster is none too happy about a mabari traveling on his boat. The sisters quickly move through the throng of people so the ferrymaster can't single them out and force them off. They find an empty pocket of space big enough for the three of them at the far end of the ferry – right beside a troupe of Templars. The grimace that springs to Olisa's face is unbidden. Marianna doesn't even bother to hide a curse of 'Maker's cocksuckers' at the sight of the four Chantry soldiers – men and women proudly wearing an emblazoned flaming sword of Andraste on their chestplates. They seem to ignore Marianna's language as a courtesy due to her wearing a sash typical of Guards-in-training from shoulder to hip. Olisa only wishes she had something to grant herself a reprieve from their scrutiny as her sister, but even having forgone her cowl beneath her leathers due to the weather, she's without anything to block their judgmental stares. Her grimace turns into a frown. Her family has always hidden from Templars, _she's_ always hidden from Templars bar Aveline's husband briefly, and now she's face-to-face with them. She was never as close on her previous travels to the Gallows – being one to favor less traveled paths and comfortable in a mage's presence.

"What are you looking at doglord?" The closest woman to her sneers. Olisa's lips form a thin line of impertinence as she refuses to be goaded by the Chantry lackey. She feels Dagger press closer to her leg – his shoulder against her thigh and standing his ground as well. "Are you deaf? I asked you a question!" The woman's shrill tone is grating on her ears, and she hears her sister mutter yet another curse, but the Templar seems intent on Olisa.

"Knight-Captian won't like this Tia," the Templar beside the woman, Ser Tia, sighs. "If he hears you-"

"You are correct, I don't," a soft but firm voice says – a blond Templar leaning against the ferry's railing a few paces away. His voice is just loud enough to be heard over the noise of the other ferrygoers as he continues, "We will have words once ashore, Ser Tia. Leave the civilians in peace."

"Yes Ser!" she snaps, the press of bodies being too close for a salute. Ser Tia spares a parting glare at Olisa before turning on her heel.

Olisa isn't a stranger to people's ire towards her countrymen, which is why she's more than a little surprised at having heard the Templar's superior speaking with a Ferelden accent. She glances at the Knight-Captain again, and is not able to place him as a Templar she recognizes – the curly golden hair and hazel eyes are unrecognizable to her. She's not surprised though – there's dozens and dozens of Templars from Ferelden, and probably just as many displaced as the country's citizenry was during the Blight. It's of no matter to her though – less Templars hunting apostates the better, in her opinion. She can't wait to get away from the untrustworthy Chantry dogs though. Their very image brings with it a slew of memories she'd rather not dwell upon in a ferryboat packed with their ilk. Solivitus better pay well for making her suffer their company. She still has a damned hangover.

The ferry's docking at the Kirkwall Circle of Magi is abrupt and jostles its passengers before the ship is tied down by one of the dockhands in the Templar's employ. As Olisa braces herself to push through the other passengers and off the boat, she hears the Ferelden Knight-Captain order Ser Tia to wait for him by the gates. The press of bodies breaks around her abruptly before she feels a cold, steel gauntleted hand wrap firmly around her bicep form behind. Fully expecting an attack from Ser Tia for an imagined offense, she palms a thin knife hidden in her belt in a fluid motion borne of practice and necessity before facing the person who has unwarrantably touched her. She'd hurt them before they'd hurt her. She turns and comes face-to-face with the blond Knight-Captain, or well, face-to-chest due to Olisa's lack in height. Her expression is as cold as the tempered metal weapon held tightly in her fist as she stares him down.

"I would wait, Serrah, so you would not be trampled," he says in the same soft yet firm voice he had spoken in just moments before. He glances down to the weapon held readily in her small fist impassively, as he continues to hold her arm and prevent her from fleeing the ferry.

"Get your fucking hand off my sister, Templar," Olisa hears Marianna growl threateningly from beside her – anger and disgust pouring through the demand.

The Templar blinks at the warrior, before looking at his hand as though he hadn't realized he still held the archer. He releases her as if burned, and says, "I apologize Serrah," while bobbing his head in a quick apology. "I am Knight-Captain Cullen. If you have any more problems while at the Gallows, do not hesitate to seek me out. I hope the remainder of your visit proves less... hostile." He crosses an arm across his chest respectively at the sisters, before turning towards his Templars and making his own way off the ferry. Most of the other passengers had disembarked during their exchange.

Olisa looks after the blond man's retreating back, still holding her knife firmly in her fist as if the threat the Templar posed still remained, while she asks her sister without looking at her, "What the Void was that, Anna?"

…...

_Author's note: So... this is posted a lot later than I had first thought it would be. I'm so sorry for that! But my dear beta is internet-less and I have only just gotten in touch with her recently. I've decided to just go ahead and post this chapter and the next chapter un-beta'd, so if you notice any glaring mistakes please let me know! :D Thanks! And we all hope you get your internet back soon Apollo Wings! *hugs*_


	5. Chapter 5: Roderick

_Author's note: This is the second chapter posted for the 12/21 update! Two chapters in one day for you readers (chapters 4&5)!_

**Roderick**

Mother had wanted to go to the Chantry on the pretenses of lighting a candle in Carver's memory, as she's done every week, but Roderick knows that his Mother also likes partaking in the gossip of the worshipers. She's careful to avoid anyone who might recognize her from her younger years, as she doesn't want anyone to think poorer of her for her current lot, and that's how Roddy came to the aid of a girl crying about her brother as he waited on his dearest mother. Mother had insisted he wait outside for her, considering the weapon he carries, since she didn't want to 'draw eyes'. While waiting, he noticed a poor girl bawling her eyes out and his cursed sympathetic nature had him offering to aid the distraught girl by finding her brother – her _Templar _brother. The Maker does have a sense of humor. An apostate offering to find a Templar – ha!

After promptly escorting his mother home, or as promptly as one could lead someone with little coin but of mind with much more away from the Hightown markets, Roderick decided he'd head over to the Gallows. Voluntarily. Alone. He frowns and fidgets as he thinks on that. His sisters were at the Gallows though. It was fortunate that they were at the place one could most certainly think to go to look for a Templar. The girl said her brother had friends in the ranks, and he'd need to go and speak with them if he wanted to honor his promise to help her. Funny he'd promised to help her _before _she mentioned her brother's involvement in the Order. He'd not back out on a promise to a stranger though – he'd want the same were their situations reverse. If one of his sisters were a Templar and had gone missing? He laughs a little at his thoughts. Andraste would be sooner resurrected than that.

He decides he shouldn't go alone though. He'd take Dagger were his sister's mabari not with his mistress, so who should he take so he doesn't feel like the lone rabbit in the middle of a pack of hungry wolves? Merrill was close by, but she was a _bloodmage_. Bad idea, that. That means no Anders too. He frowns a little. Isabela... was she even awake during the day? Varric was close by, and hopefully not busy, so Roddy leaves his uncle's shack and heads to the Hanged Man while he considers if he's crazy for even keeping his word and going to the _Gallows_. He thinks Olisa would pop a blood-vessel the moment she spies him in the Templar's stronghold. He was supposed to be avoiding that place like the plague. Perhaps he was starting to loose his mind? Damned his empathy.

Varric seems to be more amused by his request, to travel with him to the Gallows to ask after a Templar, than anything else, and so the dwarf readily agrees to accompany him. Varric blessedly ignores any nervousness on Roddy's part as they stand in the ferry to cross to the Gallows. Roderick hopes he isn't obvious – he hasn't even used his mana more than to light a candle in over a year! Varric doesn't know he's a mage, does he? He takes a fleeting glance at his shorter friend. If the dwarf could figure him out, could a Templar? Roddy can't quite stifle a snort – Varric is far more clever than any Chantry sod could ever hope to be. He also knows that Varric's smart enough to know _why_ he hides his magic, and _why_ it's necessary. He doesn't think Varric's the type to betray him, and out him as a mage in the middle of the blasted Gallows.

When Roderick walks towards the Gallows courtyard lined with eerie slaver statues, he tries to act as normal as possible. He does _not _want to be singled out. He's just a normal patron, nothing more. Maker, his heart feels like it's in his throat, and his hands are getting clammy. He takes a deep breath through his nose and searches with a fleeting gaze for any sign of his sisters once they enter the courtyard and its market. Varric's the one to spy them standing at a stall tended by a Tranquil – selling runic stones and enchanted items. He _almost _wants to run to them in relief. He takes his time though, paces his steps to match his dwarven companion's, and heads to the Tranquil's stall. Maker's breath they're creepy. And sad, depressing, and a whole slew of things he'd much rather not think about while surrounded by egotistical, scarily devout, soldiers with a penchant for... What is Olisa staring at?

Or _who, _he amends. His steps slow further as he tries to get a better look at whomever his sister is looking at. He stands on his booted toes a bit as he follows his eldest sister's line of sight, and sees that she's staring at a Templar. One with slightly fancier armor, he notices, a man with blond hair and a grim face. The Templar seems to be staring back at her. Are they having a staring contest? A small amused smile curves his lips as he pats Varric's shoulder to get his attention.

"Do you see that?" he asks as he nods towards Olisa standing beside Marianna as the brunette warrior looks through enchanted goods, seemingly oblivious to their sister's staring contest with a Blighted Templar.

Varric chuckles with glee, "I do, and I smell a story, Sunny."

Roderick snorts, but doesn't comment any further on his sister's odd behavior with a _Templar_. His eyes instead sweep over the Templar's form as his curiosity gets the better of him. He's handsome – for a Templar. Tall, broad shoulders, a strong jaw, a straight nose, and a head of hair like spun gold that reminds him of _another_ blond man that he'd not mind drooling over in the least. He visibly shakes himself to be rid of thoughts of _Anders, _and instead looks back to his eldest sister. Olisa's face is an emotionless mask, one to rival the Templar she's... doing _something _with. Why are they staring at each other? Did he miss something? He hates when that happens. He misses things almost as much Merrill. It's disappointing, to say the least.

"So... Sisters. Fancy seeing you here," Roddy says awkwardly once he's close enough to the stall to be heard over the other people nearby.

Marianna stiffens and frowns harshly when she looks in his direction and flits her brown eyes over Roddy and Varric with scrutiny. Olisa visibly starts and gasps when she sees her brother – which is extraordinarily unusual for the archer. Olisa never startles so easily. Roddy's curiosity is peaked – as is Varric's if the dwarf's snicker is anything to go by.

"Roddy!" she hisses, as her surprise quickly gives way to anger. "Are you mad?"

Instead of answering, Roderick signals to his sisters and leads them to an alcove for privacy as he tells them what the girl, Macha, had asked of him. They weren't eager to help, not one to care for the fate of a single Templar, but Roddy had promised and he keeps his promises. They agreed to help him only _after _he'd promised to bathe Dagger – he thinks he spied Varric taking notes. Damned dwarf and his obsession with drama and action. He was going to put _that _into a story? How is bathing a mabari exciting? Rolling his eyes, Roderick walks with his sisters, mabari, and their business associate. He wasn't quite paying attention to where they're going, more concerned with the Tranquil and the one creepy grinning Templar that smelt strongly of onions, and is surprised when Olisa parks herself in front of the Templar she was having a staring contest with. Roddy's more than a little confused.

He edges slightly around Marianna's armored shoulder to get a good look at his shortest, yet oldest, sister staring down a much taller Templar beneath her heavy bangs, as if the fact she has to look up to meet his eyes was a great offense.

"Knight-Captain Cullen," his sister says with a voice not quite recognizable as her own – more steely and void of its normal inflection.

"Serrah," the Templar says in turn – his voice quieter than his sister's, but no less strong.

"You had said I could call on you if I were to have any problems while here," he watches as his sister leans her weight back on one foot and crosses her arms over her chest. The pose is supposed to look casual, but Roddy knows that his sister could attack in a moment's notice with as little hesitation as a coiled spring, if need be. The Hawkes were fighters because they had to be – survivors in their cores. But then, if that were true, why does it seem his sister is familiar with a Templar? Using his name and calling on him for aid! What he sees is baffling to Roderick. Perhaps it's the same madness that has made him even offer to search for a Templar in the first place going around.

"And are there any problems Serrah?" The Templar asks with a single raised brow, the only thing to indicate his words as a genuine question.

"I'm looking for Ser Keran. His sister worries for him." Roddy notices she said 'I' and not 'my brother'. It seems Olisa wants to draw as little attention to him as possible, and the apostate is thankful for that.

"Ser Keran," the Templar actually frowns. "And are you his sister?"

"No," Olisa shifts her weight. "I'm assisting Ser Keran's sister."

"And why couldn't his sister inquire on her brother herself?" He shakes his head, "What ever the reason, I am sorry, but I cannot help you Serrah. Ser Keran has not checked-in in several days."

They leave the Knight-Captain after that. Roderick sighs, he was really hoping he could just find the Templar, get a note to the Templar's sister, and be done with it. Then his conscience would be at ease, and he'd never have to set foot into the Gallows again. "What are we supposed to do now?" He asks as he wipes at his brow wearily.

"We ask around – offer a copper or two." Varric suggests, "People will talk for coin. Or a pint."

"There's no bloody tavern around here," Marianna grumbles sourly. "Let's just get this over with. It's foolish to be here any longer," she says and stares pointedly at Roddy – foolish apostate walking about the Gallows that he is.

They come across a few Templar recruits after a bit of bribing, and learn of quite the mess surrounding the recruits. Some recruits go missing and don't come back – but one did. And now they're traipsing around the Wounded Coast looking for a lone Templar amongst the trees, rock, and sand dunes. Only _after _Roderick promised to wash the dishes and darn Gamlen's socks. His sisters were more than a little content to shrug and leave well enough alone after speaking to the recruits. Roddy's fairly certain he's lost his mind, or at least his priorities, by the time the sun starts to set over the horizon and they hear raised voices in the distance. Finally! They've been looking for that blasted Templar for ages!

They follow the path until they see the Knight-Captain from earlier with his sword drawn on a dark-haired Templar cowering less than a pace away from him. The sight draws a snort and a bark of laughter from Marianna, and she says by way of greeting, "Cocksuckers turning on themselves. Guess we know what happened to Ser Keran now."

The Knight-Captain spares a glance back at their party before turning towards his charge again, "This is Templar business, Guardswoman. It is of no concern to you or yours."

"Help me! Please!" The dark-haired recruit gasps. "He's gone mad! He'll hurt me!"

"Enough Ser Wilmod!" The Knight-Captain growls and steps forward with his sword drawn. His steps and posture are sure and firm. "Tell me what you know!"

When the recruit next speaks, his voice is a register darker and deeper than it should be while a preternatural flame cracks along the surface of his pale skin, "That is the last time you will strike me fool Templar!" The man, a Templar and most certainly _not _a mage, begins a sickening metamorphosis into an abomination made of a demon of rage right before their eyes. Roderick's mouth falls open and slack as he watches the impossible made real – the man's mortal body gives way with the crackle and snap of skin and bone until his very essence is intertwined in a fleshy mass with a demonic spirit of the Fade. A demon possessing someone of un-magical skill – it shouldn't be possible. Maker, it shouldn't be possible.

Transfixed as he is, Roderick watches as the demon lunges for Olisa – she had been walking towards the Knight-Captain during their brief exchange, whether to stop him from striking the recruit or not, Roddy doesn't know. Olisa bears the long, thin knives hidden beneath her leather vambraces by grasping the pommels in opposite hands, and instead focuses her attention on the demonic creation making for her. Roddy fumbles for his pole-axe strapped to his back, and suppresses the urge to unleash his own Fade-given powers at the abomination as the creature tears through the leather on one of his sister's arms. The other Templar is still there, and it would be dangerous for him to aid her in the way his instincts are screaming at him to do. Olisa's hiss of pain echoes off of the Coast's caverns amidst a collective _shing _of unsheathing weaponry.

One of Bianca's bolts pierces the creature's mutilated shoulder, but it's not enough to stop it from swiping one clawed hand towards the archer again. The Knight-Captain comes to his sister's aid first – his longsword wrenches through the creature's sternum as it howls in pain. Olisa jumps back as Marianna and Dagger rush past her to engage the abomination with the Templar, and drops her knives to the sandy ground in favor of bringing forth her longbow and a red-fletched arrow. Roderick still can't free his pole-axe from its leather strap. Sodding shit. The abomination screeches, and fowl shades claw through the ground as a surge of demonic mana whips through the air on a fowl wind to power their manifestations. One of Olisa's arrows flies just centimeters from the Knight-Captain's face over his shoulder to take a shade sneaking at his back in the eye. Now they're fighting _with _Templars – the Maker's humor is perplexing.

Roderick watches the deadly arrow's shot down the creature as he finally manages to free his weapon, and swings his pole-axe with all his might at the closest shade to him and Varric. His single-bladed axe cleaves through the dark tissue and demonic ichor of the creature easily, emptying it to the ground in hot pools. He doesn't even bother to turn his weapon in his hands as he swings backwards into the shoulder of another shade with his pole-axe's hammer. The lyrium-weaved grip beneath his palms calls to him to bring forth his magic, but he steams the desire as he's done for over a year, and finishes the shade with a downward swing of his hammer.

Roderick hears and _feels _a chant reverberate through the magic-laden air, and whips his head around to see the Templar with his sword point-down in the earth and his head slightly bend downwards – he's cleansing the area of magic to cut-off the shades manifestations. The cleanse stings and pricks at the mage's skin with every word uttered, while the abomination howls at the loss of its sustained abilities.

Roddy focuses his attention on the remaining struggling shades, and misses the sight of the abomination's end. When he looks up after cleaving a shade's abdomen in two, bloody ichor dripping from his hands and weapon, the Templar recruit-abomination has three blades protruding from it – the Knight-Captain's, Marianna's, and one of Olisa's knives. There's a tension in their bodies, and Roddy thinks he's missed something again. After briefly checking to make sure he can still see Varric and Dagger, Roddy cautiously walks forward to his sisters.

The Knight-Captain drags his and Olisa's blades from the abomination's body with a wet grating sound, and hands the archer her long-knife pommel first. Olisa steps forward to take her belt-knife, and the same indignant look from before at the Gallows claims her face as she gazes up at the much taller man.

"I doubt that was supposed to happen," she says in the same cold voice as before. Roddy really wishes he hadn't missed whatever it was to bring that tone and look to his sister's face – Olisa sounds about ready to kill the Knight-Captain. What did him and his fucked up priorities drag his family into this time?

…...

_Author's note: Who ever you are Guest, I really appreciate your kind and helpful reviews! I'd PM you if I could. :) Thank you all of you reviewers and readers – you're all awesome! And I hope you all enjoy the upcoming holiday(s)!_


	6. Chapter 6: Marianna

_Author's __note: __Just __in __case __you __missed __it, __chapters __4 __and __5 __were __both __posted __at __the __same __time. __I __looked __at __OMH:R's __traffic __stats, __and __some __people __were __skipping __ch.__4! __:o __Next __time, __I'll __be __sure __to __make __it __clearer __when __I'm __posting __two __chapters __at __once, __so __no __one __will __be __confused __if __they __accidentally __skip __a __chapter._

…...

**Marianna**

She was going to wring Roddy's neck. Bloody abominations and Templars to boot – the messes they get dragged into. Maker damn Roddy and his selflessness. He has always been one of those types who'd bring home homeless kittens and puppies, though Father and Mother never let him keep them for long. Had enough to do with the farm animals thank-you-very-much. And now it seems he's trying to save wayward _Templars_. What the Void happened to his head to make him want to do that? He's a bloody mage! Did he forget who he flaming well is? She'd still help him out in this foolish venture though – he is her brother after all, _and _he had promised to do her chores. It'd be bitchy not to help out.

And then there was the Ferelden cocksucker from the ferry. He had no damned right to act all hoity toity and all mighty, to go and try to treat their sister like a blasted damsel in distress. Some may say the Knight-Captain was being chivalrous, but Marianna knows better – there was an angle being played there somewhere. A grim reality she learned from her time in Athenril's company – that no one did something for nothing. He was trying to gain Olisa's favor to some advantage, and that's why he didn't treat Anna the same. He saw Olisa as a poor little thing that needed protected, so he could gain leverage somewhere. Marianna just didn't know where yet. She was going to find out though. Conniving Templars did not sit well with her. The Chantry sort were always wrapped up in their plots.

The warrior glares menacingly with glittering eyes and a scrunched face at the Knight-Captain, while he withdraws his and her sister's weapons from the abomination's corpse seemingly effortlessly. That was some shit. That was some crazy horse shit – Templars turning into abominations. Though the present threat of the Knight-Captain is more concerning to Marianna than any horrific phenomena. She pays close attention as the Templar hands her sister's knife back to her, and looks for any indication as to his true motivations in the gesture, but just sees the same mock-chivalry being acted out. She grits her teeth at the display. Bloody Chantry dogs just rub her the wrong way.

"I doubt that was supposed to happen." The ice in Olisa's tone makes it clear to Marianna that her older sister is no fool – Olisa knows something is off too. She isn't comfortable with the Templar either, but who in their right mind would be?

"You are correct, Serrah, that was... unusual." The Knight-Captain looks fleetingly at the grotesque corpse by his armored toes that are just visible from underneath his garb. The creature's purplish-black blood is soaking into the sandy ground and threatening to stick to their boots. The Templar continues though, as it seems he's used to similar sights, "I thank you all for your timely aid," he then looks at the remainder of their party – her brother, dwarven friend, and sister's war hound. "If you are willing, I require more aid," he sighs and scrubs at his face briefly. "The Order can compensate well for any assistance in this matter." Marianna thinks that he can shove whatever coin he may have, because she is not daft enough to think any bit of coin is worth getting involved in anything else like this.

Marianna watches with a small bit of horror as Olisa chews on her bottom lip – a sign that she's considering his offer. She wants to shake her sister to put her right. They don't need to be involved in any more ridiculous Templar affairs – Roddy's already off his rocker about this, and Olisa doesn't need to be too. Leave the cocksuckers to deal with their own matters. This crazy shit is not their concern.

"What else do you need?" Olisa asks with a little less ice in her voice. Marianna blinks dumbly at her – they're all mad! Is she the only Blighted sane one of their lot?

To Marianna's perpetual ire, the blond, shiny fuck-face perks up at her sister's inquiry. Anna could gag at his doe-eyes. Idiots, the lot of them. "The recruits tend to... to enjoy the establishment, the Blooming Rose." He shifts his weight a bit, and adverts his eyes slightly with an awkwardness about him, "I have tried speaking with the proprietress – the recruits could have told someone there something, or someone could have observed something off with the men, but no one will speak with me. They fear the Templars will act against their... their business if they talk. I have very few leads in this investigation," he looks back over at Olisa, "I believe there could be something learned there. If... someone who was not directly affiliated with the Order inquired on my behalf, perhaps they will be more willing to talk."

"You want me to speak with the whores, and see if someone knows something?" Marianna can see her sister raise a dark brow in question as she gazes up at the Templar. She seems to be enjoying how uncomfortable he looks and acts as he explains himself. It's not often a Templar shows any kind of weakness – awkwardness included. The Templars all turn cookie-cutter by the time they make it up through the ranks – trained to act and think the same.

"I'm not afraid of the brothel," her sister continues. "We'll do this only for coin." Fuck, but they do need good coin, don't they? Sodding shit. Since when has Olisa made all the decisions for them?

"Yes, of course Serrah." He bobs his head, "Thank you all for your aid, again."

When they turn to leave, Marianna takes an extra moment to glare at the Templar – he doesn't even notice her. So much for her fantasies of making Templars quake in their boots with a mere look. She'll have to work on it, especially since her two still living siblings seem to have gone mad in regards to Templars. What ever happened to 'don't trust the bloody cocksuckers cause they killed Father'? Or 'they'll do anything to get their hands on Roddy if they knew of him'? Or 'Templars are too dangerous – avoid them at all costs'? Did Roddy and Olisa forget the lessons of their childhoods? Since when has coin and promises to strangers been more important than those lessons? Those questions eat at Marianna, and as they're walking along the winding trails of the Wounded Coast back towards Kirkwall with only the crunch of sand underfoot to be heard, she can't help but speak up about it. She's never been good about keeping her thoughts to herself, or being silent about matters she deems important.

"Since when do we make deals with Templars and help them?" She growls out, and the frown that mars her face is starting to become a permanent fixture.

"We're helping that girl, Macha," Roddy points out. "Not the Templars."

"No, _now _we're helping the Templars – you heard what our sister said to that one," Anna points her thumb back in the direction they had left the Templar to deal with the abomination's remains.

"Quit talking of me like I'm not here," Olisa sighs. "We're not helping them out of the kindness of our hearts. The Templars pay good coin – everyone knows that, and we need every bit for the Expedition."

"No shit," Varric chuckles, and Marianna thinks the sound is grating for once. The dwarf and his light fingers, of course he'd be interested in anything with coin. "Why do you have such a problem with Templars anyway Chuckles? Coin is coin. At least now we're getting paid, and not trying to be vigilantes like Sunny fancies."

"The Templars can keep their damn bloody bits. Father always said the Templars were too dangerous to get involved with," the warrior replies heatedly with her brown brows drawn severely over her eyes.

"Ah, there it is," Varric says in a satisfied tone. "Papa Hawke was a mage, wasn't he?"

"Yes," Marianna grumbles. "He taught us better than to trust those fucking cocksuckers, and we should very well remember that."

"We're not trusting them," Olisa tries to reassure with a calming hand on her sister's armored bicep. "This is just a job for some coin, and to soothe Roddy's conscience. Nothing more, Anna."

"If I have to touch Gamlen's socks over this, then I'm seeing this through," Roderick mumbles dejectedly.

"You lot are crazy, just so you know that," Marianna waves her hand to gesture to everyone except Dagger. "And I don't very much like the way that Templar acts around you, Sister," Marianna points at Olisa. "If he tries that chivalrous bullshit one more time, I'm going to give him something else to concern himself with." The threat is made clear when she touches the handle of her beloved axe with one gloved hand and a sneer threatening to curl her lip.

Varric's snicker-snort of laughter momentarily breaks Marianna of her fuming anger. "Didn't know you were so concerned about Hawke's virtue, Chuckles."

"What?!" Marianna's voice cracks with the exclamation. Varric thinks that the Templar was – what? Making... designs on her sister? That's ridiculous! "Don't go putting ideas in anyone's heads dwarf!"

Marianna simmers in a mixture of anger and disquiet all the way back to the City of Chains. She's actually a touch worried. She had thought the Knight-Captain was acting towards something, and what if Varric was right and that something was her sister? _Her sister_. And not because Olisa has connections to the underground, to elves, to dwarves, to smugglers, to muscle, to thieves – no because he _fancies _her. He didn't play at chivalry to get use of her friends, of her knowledge, of her expertise – no he _wants her_, and the thought sickens Marianna.

Templars had no right to be anywhere near anyone bearing the Hawke name, and certainly not in the way Varric eluded to. Could Varric even be right? They just met that blasted Templar that very day! What? Was his attraction to her sister something straight out of fairy tales? Love at first sight, and all that crap? As if something like that was even plausible! What's more likely is that the Templar's just thinking with his other head, and fancied pulling the strings on a pretty little puppet, so he offered her another job and more coin so his little head can get closer to what he wants. He saw her on the ferry, wanted her, and now wants to use her and that's that. There's nothing chivalrous in that, nothing romantic or fanciful, or anything else that Varric will write up in his far-fetched tales – just a cocksucker concerned with his cock. She wouldn't have thought that years ago, no, not until she spoke to Aveline and learned that not all Templars take a vow of chastity. Explains more of the horror stories Anders goes on about – egotistical, horny louts the all of them. This Knight-Captain is no different. She'll keep an eye on him for her sister's sake. Olisa may be the chosen protector of the family, but Marianna's the watch-dog. The Knight-Captain's desires can only lead to bad things for their family, for her sister, and she'll not be blind to that.

Marianna grouses on her troubling thoughts while her sister and Varric meander through the brothel chatting up whores and slipping coins into hands with teasing little smiles like second nature. Must be something with those sneaky types – able to adapt their personalities when need be. Though it seems Olisa has a bit more trouble acclimating to charming and suave than Varric – she prefers to observe, rather than be observed. A rouge the archer is, though gifted with a personality more befitting a warrior. She tries, and Marianna doesn't. The guardswoman heads to the Blooming Rose's bar, despite her sniveling bastard of an uncle's presence, and orders herself an ale. Maker has this day been trying. Just yesterday she was laughing obnoxiously at her favorite drinking hole and arm wrestling with pirates for kicks – that seems so long ago now. Blasted Templars ruining her spirits.

Later, her sister drags her from the bar earlier than she'd like, not quite tipsy and still fuming, and takes her to a whore's room for questioning. After having almost slit her sister's throat with Olisa's belt-knife, a dot of ruby blood marring her sister's pale neck as proof, Marianna decides that murdering bloodmages ruin her spirits more than any Templar could. She's pissed off enough that the justified decapitation of the bloodmage whore, courtesy of her axe, isn't enough to still her accumulating rage. Her fingers and arms still burn painfully with the exertion of forcing her blade through muscle and bone, while fighting the prickling in her veins of the residual bloodmagic that Roddy put a stopper to. Murderers get her blood boiling – one of the reasons she had joined the militia back in Ferelden, and one of the reasons she'd wanted to join the Guard here. Criminals that think they can kill people without retribution make her want to deliver that retribution personally. Amoral arseholes that think they have rights to everyone and everything just because they know how to take a life... Sodding great, now she wants to see this blasted job through too. Her principles seem to overrule her anger. She still doesn't like that they're working for that cocksucker and the cursed Order by extension, but she'd not willing see a bunch of murders roaming the streets unchecked. One almost made her kill her own flesh-and-blood – she can't very well overlook that. Once this job's done though, she's through with the Templars. Andraste preserve her, but she just can't take the Order's shit or the Knight-Captain's. She may be a little worried for her sister, though she'd not likely admit to it too.

…...

_Author's note: Just like in the original version of OMH, I won't go over -every- in-game mission in this fic. I'll focus on missions/quests I think relevant to the characters' exploration and growth, missions involving anything mage-Templar, and AU missions. Also, this chapter is un-beta'd and a little late, because I was actually wifi-less myself the last two weeks. All mistakes are mine! If you ever think anyone sounds OOC or anything, don't hesitate to mention it in a review or a PM! Thanks guys!_


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